


Meet Me in the Graveyard

by hoopdedoop



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-25 01:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17111468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoopdedoop/pseuds/hoopdedoop
Summary: Kasen receives a letter. A letter reminding her of a promise she made 1200 years ago.The heavy snowfall hides the path, but she still manages to retrace her steps, and remember the times long gone by.





	Meet Me in the Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! It is yet again the Touhou Secret Santa! My giftee this year was purenguyening! Hello!!!
> 
> I've chosen to work with the prompt "a short story that portrays a bittersweet relationship between Kasen and Yoshika." I tried to keep it short, I promise! It was quite challenging but also really fun to write. The story is based on/inspired by a folk tale featuring Miyako no Yoshika, but as to not spoil it, I've written a bit more about it the end notes.
> 
> To purenguyening: I humbly offer my gift, and I hope you have a great holiday season!

 

 

 

 

The request appeared on her doorstep, curiously. Kasen read it a few times over, until each word had been absorbed, laid to rest. Between the thin walls of her large house, firewood burned restlessly. A few nights must already have passed, she concluded. The letter conveyed to her no urgency. She was in no hurry. Once the storm passed, she packed a small bag, wrapped an old, blue scarf around her head and left her house. It still snowed, heavy large snowflakes falling like clumps from the sky, but without the wind they were pretty to watch and served no obstacle.

It was a bright morning. Kasen traveled by road to the village, the snow erasing her trail as she went on her way. It was a quiet day in the village. The snow acted as isolation, dampening the sounds that would normally echo between the houses, and people didn’t fare the roads on days like this if they could avoid it. Upon reaching the Myouren Temple, the gate was closed. Not locked, but closed and unattended. After the long and heavy falls, the gate had been snowed shut. Kasen, with her inhuman strength, pushed the gate doors open with ease. The snow squeaked as the door swung open, and inside the temple grounds the snow laid almost pristine.

To the slow rhythm of the strikes upon the temple block, Kasen could hear the distant recital of a familiar sutra. In the silence, even the distant sound was distinct, clear yet soft like the thick snow she plodded through. Kasen had no plans to disturb them. She’d arrived on her own whim. She climbed the stairs to the temple, and took note of how the monuments had been cleared of snow just the previous day. There was less snow piled up there than elsewhere. At the temple front, no one came to greet her. Such was no surprise. She would have to wait for a while.

The snow eventually stopped falling. Kasen sat with her legs crossed, in the backyard, under the bare sky. As the snowflakes thinned out into nothing, the vibrating monotone of the sutra was silenced. Its presence lingered in the air, just like the snow on the ground spoke of the snowfall. This did not break Kasen's concentration, and nor did the distant chirping of songbirds. Her palms upturned in her lap, she meditated, even as the silence in the temple became footsteps on the hardwood floors and whispers between the walls.

When Byakuren gently called out to her, there was snow piled on her head, and inside the palms of her hands.

“Oh, Miss hermit, ma’am,” Her voice, though recognizable, was a far-shout from how Kasen had heard her recite the sutra. Dressed in black and white, unburdened by the heavy kesa over her shoulder, she had appeared in the doorframe. “I’m terribly sorry to have kept you waiting like this.”

Kasen took a deep breath. Her eyes came open. The cold nipped at her skin, and she landed in her body. “That’s perfectly fine.” Her voice was reserved. “I’m in no hurry." Brushing the snow off of her scarf and shoulders, Kasen rose to greet Byakuren.

“I take it you received my letter.” Byakuren lowered her head in a greeting.

“That I did.” Kasen stepped up in the porch.

“Come, we’ll speak indoors.” Byakuren said, inviting her inside where the fragrance of incense still laid heavy since the recital.  
Ichirin served them tea. She said nothing, but she smiled perkily and would peer at Kasen with curious eyes. It was cold even inside the sermon hall, and there was no commotion arising inside the temple.

“I was assuming this was no... urgent issue.” Kasen spoke seated on the floor cushion, and across of her, Byakuren replicated her impeccable form.

“Indeed.” She smiled, “It’s been... on-going for well, a long time.”

The temple ground stretched beyond the walls that circled the main building, beyond the backyard as it could be seen from where Kasen had meditated earlier. In spring, the snow would melt and reveal the paths, but now with the fresh snowfall, the way to the graveyard was hidden so well, one might assume it had never existed in the first place.

“I spoke to the Taoists, but they insists it’s not their problem to solve,” Byakuren sounded only a little troubled, her frustration marked by the stiffness of her smile. “And although she happily agreed the help in the past, the kasha couldn’t quite solve the problem.”

“I’m assuming you’ve already asked Reimu.” Kasen assumed indeed, and she also assumed what Reimu’s answer had been.

“Oh yes. As it pains me, of course, we did ask her.” Byakuren’s smile had become more sincere. “She said, and quite firmly, too... that as long as no humans come in harm's way, she has no responsibility over the matter.”

“That sounds like her alright,” Kasen smiled, too. “But I suppose we should be glad the jiang-shi hasn’t harmed any humans.”

“This weather has as such been a blessing. No mourners have braced the storm, but naturally we’ve still kept an eye out.” The path to the graveyard had indeed been untouched. “But not even my girls are particularly... fond of watching the jiang-shi in the night.”

“Well, I suppose that’s understandable.” Kasen laughed a little.

“She keeps coming back no matter what we do,” Byakuren sounded genuinely frustrated. “It’s been a long time now, but she still found her way back. And I’m not going to sit around and wait for her master’s whims to change.”

 _“She’s---”_ Kasen wasn’t sure what would be appropriate. “A troublesome individual.”

“Oh, please I,” Byakuren struggled just as Kasen did. “I don’t even know where to start, frankly. I’ve said it before: maybe I ought to just destroy her and be done with it but...” Byakuren sighed. “Nothing in this world comes quite that easy.”

“...It truly does not.” Kasen agreed, watching the white outdoors, shimmering in the gap opened between the sliding doors.

“Perhaps it’s overdue to ask, but do you agree to help?” Byakuren sounded optimistic. “I’m not quite sure who else to ask at this point. If push comes to shove, maybe you could try to reason with her master, from one hermit to another.”

Kasen really hoped it would not come to that. “I’ll see what I can do.” She didn’t want to make any promises.

“It’ll be inconvenient if humans won’t be able to visit the graveyard in peace once spring comes,” Byakuren clarified. “As an ally of humans it is in your best interest to help.”

Byakuren’s sweet smile felt almost poisonous; almost. Nervously, Kasen replied. “O-of course.”

 

 

 

Night fell. Kasen had declined lodging; she didn’t want to associate too much with the temple youkai. Not by principle, no, it was quite the opposite. She had enough history with the tanuki as it was, no need to make it even more complicated. Kasen instead sat on the porch to wait. The cold could only bother her so much. As evening came, the sutra recital reconvened. With her back against the wall, Kasen felt the words ingrain in her skin. She closed her eyes to the visage of the setting sun, reliving memories of old as if they were the present.

They came to her, faded, detached, as if no longer her own, but rather as images of a previous life. In the spring of her life, now many centuries ago, she had lived her life in a small rural village. Life was unkind to her, and she was likewise unkind to it. Born she had been, to a mother and father, but the status of her humanity had always been at question. Her home soon became too small to house her, and the streets offered far too much liberty for her to handle. Before she had been anything else, Kasen had been the wild girl from Ibaraki, the prickly wild rose.

People tend to give up on the violent, reckless youth eventually, but some have more patience than others. Once rounded up, they weren’t always allowed to leave, but the village temple was place to sleep and eat. The monks were strict and disciplined, but also quite forgiving in their own way. The sutras they chanted had only been nonsense to her, but there were things to be gained from their knowledge. When such was still not commonplace among people such as herself, the monks taught Kasen how to read and write. Oh, and while it had been a little hard to admit, she had enjoyed it. She had enjoyed reading, the words' conjoined meanings, forming sentences, stories with broader, sometimes dual meanings. It compelled her.

With her eyes closed, with the smell of the incense cutting through the sterile cold air, Kasen could feel the past like she felt the wall against her back and the floor under her crossed legs. It would be uncomfortable to remember, but she new how to drain things of their meaning, to shut down her mind and meditate it away. When she opened her eyes and the sun had set, she reaffirmed her surroundings. Stillness had fallen again, and she allowed herself to think of the jiang-shi. The thoughts passed through her mind like sand slipping through one’s fingers. There were no conclusions to be made. She’d promised she’d see her, Kasen just hoped she would not regret it. The choice she’d made was the only one available. She didn’t want to be so pitiful as to advert her eyes from the truth.

Kasen would wait a little bit longer. She was offered some food, and accepted, eating where she sat. The lanterns were lit to combat the darkness, and when Byakuren eventually came out to speak to her, she held one lit in her hand.

“I believe it’s about time,” She spoke as she reached out to hand Kasen the lantern. “If you head out now you’ll certainly see her.”

“Yeah, I’ll be heading out,” Kasen accepted it. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

“Oh, don’t mention it.” Byakuren smiled. “It’s the least we can do.”

 

 

 

Walking down the invisible path, through the woods and approaching the graveyard, Kasen felt the cold snow against her ankles, halfway up to her knees. The large flakes stuck to the fabric of her stockings. It was dark and the flame of the candle in her lantern was fickle, flickering as she walked.

It had been such a night, cold and dark, many centuries ago. In the city then called Heian-kyou, the capital which had flourished with art and culture in ways these lands had never before seen. Perhaps a remnant of the past that she scorned, Kasen had always been fascinated by humans. Their music, their prose, their art, their theater; it all allured her. On this one night, she had like many nights before it, snuck into the city to watch the humans, disguised. The snow had stopped falling, and the wind had picked up, and as darkness fell the streets emptied out. Melancholy had gripped her heart in the strangest way, so unlike her, living her fearless life. Atop the northern gate, Rajomon, she watched the long lines of flickering lights across the city. Lost in thought, she took in the scenery. Unaware of her future to come, Kasen felt her long life culminate in this moment.

A single figure caught her eye. A little wobbly in the snow, a heavily clothed young woman wearing the garb of the royal court. _How peculiar,_ she thought. As she passed under the gate, her voice rang out, unfamiliar.

 

_The sky is clear_

_The wind blows_

_As if it combs the willow shoots---_

 

Silence, hesitation, inhalation without exhalation. Kasen had never heard the verse before. The improvised piece was being composed in her presence. Without thinking, she spoke. The verse could not be unfinished.

 

_\---Looking like the hair of a beauty_

 

Her voice had sounded clear and strong. The royal composer, the object of Kasen’s inspiration, had turned her head towards the sound. Wide-eyed in wonder, she watched Kasen atop the gate. It was dark, and as a strong gust of wind blew up between the walls, the lights on the street went out. They had seen each other then, for a second, but no more. The young poet's ink-colored hair, her dark eyes, and her voice so clear in the fresh winter air were burned into Kasen's memory like little else. In the dark, she had easily disappeared and left the human girl amidst her surprise and wonder. The encounter would be on her mind for a while to come. 

The mountains overlooking the city had been her home. Kasen and her comrades lived and flourished there, out of sight from the humans who wished to slay them, but close enough to enjoy both the thrills and the comforts of the capital city. Very few humans ventured there. Those who did risked falling victim to the elements, youkai attacks or wild beasts. The drinking games and power tests of the oni could last for a few days or more, and in the city the tales of them were told like horror stories. Rightfully so perhaps, but the music they played and the stories they forged among themselves were more than good enough to be comparable to that of humans. As much as Kasen enjoyed the company of her friends, she would wander from them and spend time on her own. She admired the beauty of the mountain and diversity among the wild animals.

It was many a nights later, as her friends slept off their booze-fueled antics, Kasen took a walk in the early morning hours. It was then that strange tracks appeared, clearly visible in the snow. Tracks from a creature much larger than the deer native to the mountain, and yet, familiar. A horse, Kasen could tell just by looking, and yet it wandered aimlessly, far from any roads. Kasen didn’t need long to find it. In a clearing, a gray horse stood among the swirling snowflakes. It nibbled at uncovered straw under the shade of a tree. Saddle, bridle and all else intact, including the riders’ luggage, which appeared quite light.

“Hello there,” Kasen spoke sweetly, and the horse rose its head attentively. “What are you doing so far away from home all on your own, friend?”

Without fear, without question, the horse approached Kasen. She held her hand out, and it came trotting. Kasen laid her palm on its warm fur, which was a little fuzzy. She smiled, and anyone who saw this tender moment would hardly believe the cruelties she was capable of. Such was the duality of her character. Such it was, and such it would be.

“Where’s your rider?” Kasen asked. “Don’t tell me they just left you out here.”

Kasen hardly believed as such with the bags still on the horse, but just to be certain, she opened the saddlebag to have a look. As the horse sniffed the ground and dug in the snow, unalarmed, Kasen relieved it of its burdens. The bag was set down in the snow, its weight telltale of its contents. Kasen was still surprised when she pulled out the notebook. She flipped it through, the pages hard in the cold. Her breath visible before her, it was a little hard to read. Immersed, she was distracted for only a few seconds.

“Come on,” She spoke quietly now. She took the reins, and she wrapped her scarf around her head. “Lead me, let’s find your rider.”

Understanding her words, the horse snapped out of a daze, and pulled the reins. It retraced its own trail left in the snow. The foliage thickened. In light of day, the shade that cast on the white snow would easily burn into your eyes. The evergreen burdened by heaps of snow hung their branches low, and they swayed heavily as they passed. Kasen knew the paths that swirled the mountain, but they were far from any roads.

In the distance she heard the twittering of song birds, the few that were not silenced by the changing seasons. The stillness of the moment that passed was hollowed out at the sight of a dark figure, collapsed face down in the white snow. The branches of bushes broken by her fall, and the polished ice visible under the kicked up snow told a clear story. Without rush, but nonetheless with concern, Kasen approached the girl in the snow. Her clothes were cold to the touch, as was the skin of her face. Her ink-colored hair was matte against the sparkling snow, and her face paler than Kasen remembered.

Countless times, Kasen had held dead humans in her hands. This girl was not dead; not just yet. How long she’d been here, she could only guess, but she had reasonably good chances of making it if only someone would care for her. Her grip hard and her expression perplexed above all else, Kasen’s instinct would be to steal the books and scrolls from the girl’s bags, the expensive fabrics of her body, and leave her to her fate.

The horse shook its body with a rustle, and a wind blew between the trees. Kasen had hesitated for a second or two, and before she could react, the girl came to in her arms.

She fumbled, and mumbled. She was unintelligible, but she was awake. She watched Kasen with her dark eyes, and Kasen realized it had been very long since she’d seen a living, breathing human so close up in broad daylight.

“You fell of your horse,” Kasen stated, and based on the expression on her face, the girl appeared a little less unfamiliar to the situation she was in. “You’re hurt, and you’re cold, but you should be okay.”

“I... _the mountain,”_ She slurred. _“The-th...”_

“You should go back to the city,” Kasen tried to steady her in her arms, but felt clumsy. “You horse will take you back.”

With a heavy breath, the girl clung to Kasen’s clothes and she was heaved up, into something resembling a standing. It was a short walk, and Kasen felt the girl’s eyes on her. Effortlessly, Kasen lifted the girl atop her horse, and gave her the reins to hold.

“Thank you,” Her voice was somewhat brittle, but despite her condition, her eyes had come to brim with attention. Leaning forward in the saddle, she still looked like she could pass out at any moment. “I won’t forget this. Thank you.”

Pensive, Kasen did not respond. She would perhaps live to see another day, but what would come of it, she didn’t know. “Hold on tight.”

Touching the horses neck with her palm, Kasen spoke to the horse again. “Take her home. Go back to the capital.”

Grunting, the horse exhaled a puff of hot air. Kasen struck the horse’s behind, and they were off with a bolt. Kasen watched them go down the slope, and through the forest, the horse’s legs rapidly working up a steady rhythm. She still had the book she’d fingered tucked away inside her sleeve. She hadn’t planned to part with it regardless of the outcome, but she wished she and girl both best forget what had happened here.

What a girl from the royal court, a poet no less, was doing this far away from the city all on her own, Kasen had to wonder. And wonder she did, as she wasted time walking around the mountainside. Already that night, she couldn’t stop herself from reading the book she had stolen. It was bizarre, as if the universe had read her thoughts and offered her answers. The book was too crude to be a diary, but too personal to only be a notebook. Observations, drafts, scribbles, some a lot more sophisticated than others. In the moonlight, reflected on the sheets of snow, she read page after page as her comrades partied yet another night away. She had read poems before, but this was different. She’d gained insight into the life of a writer, an intellectual.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet, when a page presented to her words familiar, it shocked her. The short verse they’d composed together was scribbled across a page hurriedly, yet passionately. Her heart stopped in her chest, Kasen let her eyes linger on the page. The next page was empty, devoid of anything. The verse was the only thing contained in the full spread. Turning the page, she carefully read the following few sentences.

 

_\----I was out late, and I composed a poem, perhaps indulgently, out loud for there was no-one around; or so I thought_

_I heard a voice from atop the Rajomon. A woman’s voice. She finished the poem when I could not. It stunned me so, I didn’t know what to say or do, and before I knew it she was gone. It felt like a dream, but I never woke up. Perhaps I am still dreaming, as I write this. I remember the words as if she’d imprinted them in my mind. I still read them in her voice. I saw the blue cloth she wore, I believe, but maybe that was just a mirage. Maybe it was all a mirage. I’m so tired, I wish to sleep, but surely tomorrow I would have forgotten, so I had to write it down_

_Perhaps I may read this verse for Sugawara, although if I tell the story I might be taken for a fool at best!_

 

With the cold air on her face, Kasen felt her fingers and face burn. She absorbed the information, feeling like a blank page that was being filled up. She waited for the feeling to pass, but it didn’t. She turned yet another page and continued to read.

 

_I read the verse for Sugawara. I swear, it was like I’d cursed everyone in the room!_

_As if a door had flung open and cold air poured inside, everyone felt a chill, and I felt their cold eyes on me. Sugawara looked at me and said, “Miyako, did you write this verse?” So of course I had to speak the truth. I spoke of what had happened, adding I was not yet certain whether or not what had occurred was a dream._

_Suguwara was quite horrified, saying he was certain my verse had been finished by an oni, or some other youkai! How preposterous. How could anyone believe that?_

_Suguwara said that some oni are skilled artists, writers, musicians... that their intellect combined with their lifespan makes them well suited for it. Even if that is true, I know what I saw. There’s no way the woman I saw atop the gate was an oni, or a youkai of any kind._

_I do know she could not have been human. If anything Suguwara’s reaction further establishes that; but one must not be led astray so easily. I’ve read of the sages, the hermits and the holy women who inhabit the wilderness of the mountain range. I insisted such to Suguwara and the others, but I eventually gave up. I can’t expect them to understand._

_I am certain I was graced by such a presence. Still I can hear her voice, and as time passes the more certain I am that our meeting was not a dream, nor a mirage._

 

The pages flapped in the wind, held down by Kasen’s hands. She felt now, more so than before, that she’d read something not for her eyes. She did not feel guilty, but more as if a possibility she’d yet to consider had become available to her. Maybe she ought to have stopped reading, but she didn’t yet know the meaning of moderation, nor the concept of holding oneself back. She lived indulgence, and she lived hedonistically.

More notes told her the full story. Of how the young poet from the royal court, Miyako no Yoshika, had traveled to the neighboring mountains in search of the holy woman she had met at the capital gates. Of course, no such woman existed. She was a figment of Yoshika’s imagination. The days passed, and the story remained in Kasen’s mind. She kept reading the book, her favorite passages and poems, but some of her joy had been tarnished. She did not feel guilty for stealing, nor for reading the book, but she thought still that she should return it. As for why, she wanted to see that young poet once more.

Kasen carefully tore blank pages from the book, and wrote a letter. She thought long and hard of what to write, but once she put the brush to the page, it was very brief, and impersonal.

 

_Greetings,_

_I aim to return a lost object of yours, one you may miss. Meet me in the graveyard past sundown, on the night when the moon is old._

_Sincerely,_

_The Wild Rose Hermit_

 

Kasen hadn’t seen the ruckus that had arisen in the royal court post her letter's arrival. The day she’d gone to town to leave the letter to be posted, she’d been heavily disguised. She wasn’t used to moving peacefully among humans in broad daylight. The capital, with its residents, working, going, drawing their carriages and conversing between one another, it all jogged something deep inside her memory. That day, she left the city heavy-hearted and restless.

When she was invited to dance and sing with the others, she declined. The merrymaking of her comrades sounded throughout the mountain on this night as well, and Kasen could hear it in the distance as she wandered in the forest. She watched the moon, and counted the nights before it would become old. When the day came, she traveled to the city, taking only the book and a lantern with her.

 

 

 

Kasen walked in the heavy snow, on the path that led to the graveyard. The light in her lantern still swayed, and she drew deep breaths, the cold air chilling her core.

She didn’t fear ghosts, nor the dead. She feared little in this world, and what she feared most were all matters of the living, all very tangible. In that sense, she had never discarded her materialist way of living. In truth, she had only discarded so much. She rejected such truths, but Kasen had always been herself, she had never been able to discard her humanity fully, and likewise she’d never fully discarded her identity as an oni either. Perhaps she would fear the past if she could admit as much to herself; but that fallacy was also part of her oni nature.

Her steps were far from silent, and easily traceable with the trail she left behind. 1200 years ago, after a successful hit on her and her comrades, Kasen had lost many allies, lost her place to be, along with her arm that had been severed in the battle. The disguise she’d donned had eventually become her new self, her new identity and philosophy, all without a shred of irony. Infamously, the oni were quite foolhardy. She couldn’t fully outgrow that either, no matter how hard she tried.

She couldn’t outgrow that, nor her memories, and as the graves appeared in the dark their long disorderly lines casting wavering shadows in the light of her lantern, Kasen traveled back in time. Kasen may not be familiar with the irony of her life, the places she’d gone, left and returned to, but even she felt beyond strange upon seeing the old moon in the sky. The clouds had cleared. The stray snowflakes that whisked around her had been blown up by the wind. From beyond the light of her lantern, Kasen heard a familiar voice. She closed her eyes, and saw the truth.

Gensoukyou, a place frozen in time, a place were the beings and ideas of old remain conserved, condensed. Perhaps it had only been a matter of time, Kasen thought. Although she had to wonder; why? Why did all the things she’d left undone seem to come back to haunt her so consistently? Perhaps it was part of Gensoukyou’s nature; perhaps it was that unfinished business by definition would find their way back to you, one way or another. That night, over 1200 years ago, Kasen had raised her paper lantern and searched for a silhouette in the dark. She’d had time to think of what to say, but her efforts had been fruitless. She had blindly held onto the faith that once the moment arrived, things would make themselves clear to her. In the silence of the night, she’d found nothing. The graves that stood as testaments of time, of the fragility of human life served as a reminder of the death she had cheated, over and over.

It is said that oni cannot lie, for it goes against their nature. However, the absence of lies does not equal truth. A life devoid of lies does not equate self-reflection, it doesn’t equate transparency. It does not bring upon enlightenment. Perhaps she feared the truth, of her own past, of her true self. Perhaps she feared shattering the frail illusion she had only just started to forge. It was her first step down a long journey; an awkward, wobbly step. That night, Kasen had set her lantern down a top a grave, left the notebook, and returned to the mountains before Yoshika had the chance to arrive.

Kasen saw footsteps in the snow, those other than her own. Strange footsteps of someone dragging their feet. The voice she heard ringing out, a sweet and soft monotone, was fluently reciting poems in classical Chinese; the language of the old Japanese royal courts. It was distant yet close, and it was calling out to her. The Myouren Temple graveyard was quite large. It was large, and in an orderly disarray, for once lacking the many tokens left behind by the local grievers. Kasen stopped, the sounds of the her footsteps ceasing. The distant voice was no longer distant, no, she could hear it from just beyond this point, at the edge of the forest, under the naked tree branches that seemed to reach out to grasp the moon.

The old moon disappeared behind the clouds, and the flame in her lantern fought the wind and the cold, flickering tirelessly. Kasen’s heart became cold like a stone in her chest when Yoshika’s voice sounded once more, forming familiar words.

 

_The sky is clear_

_The wind blows_

_As if it combs the willow shoots---_

 

Now, it was Kasen who was near convinced that she was living a waking dream, as past and present overlapped, meshed and was just about to click into place--- but the illusion fell apart, faltered and as Kasen heard stammering seeking vowels, seeking form, seeking, perhaps a memory, her cold heart did not soar. It only sank. Kasen walked another one, two, steps, her lantern rising from her side. She stood frozen, as her eyes fixated on the shadow cast by the figure she saw, tracing it to its origin. Her eyes still, Yoshika had not turned to look at Kasen, but continued to stare out into the dark. Her lips moved without sound, as if hesitantly, and with no emotion on her face, it was a ghastly sight.

Within a moment, Yoshika found her voice. A twitch passed across her face, and as it reset, she could only retrace what she’d already spoken.

 

_The sky is clear_

_The wind blows_

_As if it combs the willow shoots---_

 

Kasen felt something leave her. Her memory of Yoshika would now never be the same. As saddened as it made her, as frustrated as it made her, her lips would not move. Yoshika would retrace the poem again, but Kasen only listened. Her lips trembled with her definite will to speak, but no words were formed. Like with a sigh without breath, her shoulders sunk and her heart laid to rest. With her eyes stinging in the cold, Kasen walked forward. She needed not strain her eyes in the dark, but the tension in her body made herself aware of every slight waver in her walk. Yoshika would not look at her, and in her silence she was like an apparition, like a statue. In the light of Kasen’s raised lantern, her skin was beyond pale, translucent. Her hair remained ink-colored, but her eyes were darker. May it be the harsh shadow cast on her face, but below her thick eyelashes, Yoshika’s irises disappeared and meshed in her eyes, harrowingly. The talisman further obscured her face, reading a simple order; _live and prosper._

“You should stop coming here,” Kasen’s voice sounded loud in the silence. “You’re scaring the villagers who come to mourn.”

Slow to react, yet with jagged movement, Yoshika angled her head in Kasen’s direction. Kasen looked in her dark eyes, and felt herself spiral into the same confusion she saw in them. The reanimated living corpse was, despite everything, a magnificent piece of work. That was what one would be led to believe. After all, it was the only thing to make sense. Kasen was well aware, and yet standing face to face with Yoshika was more than enough to make her doubt herself.

Yoshika stared at her. The confusion in her eyes faded away, replaced with nothing. Kasen felt clarity rise to the surface of her mind. “You don’t have to keep coming back here. You don’t have to wait anymore.”

The old moon’s dim shine lit up Yoshika’s dark eyes. She spoke, projecting her voice masterfully.

 

_The sky is clear_

_The wind blows_

_As if it combs the willow shoots---_

 

The wind picked up, and ruffled her hair.

 

_\---Looking like the hair of a beauty_

 

Kasen felt a chill, like a cold breath on her neck, as she heard a voice from right next to her. She would have jumped out of her skin at the sound of Seiga’s voice, had it not frozen her in place.

“Good evening,” Seiga spoke colly, her voice light and wispy like the faint traces of snow in the air. “Ms. Ibarakasen.”

“...Likewise.” Kasen exhaled, her voice only barely quivering.

In the end, Yoshika’s dreams had come true. She had met the holy woman, the hermit, just like in the legends she had so carefully studied and so heartily admired. With pale blue eyes, Seiga’s gaze passed over Kasen’s face. They had met before, unfortunately. They were like mirror images; where Seiga brazenly wore her black heart on display, Kasen would hide the horns on her head. There would be those that said Kasen merely played role of hermit, but she still played it better than Seiga. Kasen didn’t doubt Seiga knew her secret, but feared her no more for that. It was with disdain that she returned her gaze.

“Quite beautiful, don’t you think?” It took Kasen several seconds to realize what Seiga was speaking of. “It’s one of her favorites.”

“Y-yeah...” Kasen was unapologetically hesitant. “Quite.”

“She tends to forget the last part though, for some reason. Although I suppose it's not the only thing she forgets.” Seiga smiled fondly.

“I’m... surprised she remembers much of anything.” Kasen spoke earnestly. She looked at Yoshika, not Seiga.

“Oh you’d be surprised.” Words that insinuated more than Kasen cared for. “Especially this time of year, I love to have her keep me company in the study. She will recite me poems until morning. It’s lovely. I love to just... listen to her voice.”

Kasen would have responded, if she could have thought of anything to say. “...Could you perhaps not leave her here anymore? She’s scaring the villagers.”

“Oh, but...” Seiga tapped her cheek. “She really likes this place. She keeps coming back here, and I have to come pick her up. I wouldn’t want to take that away from her.”

Kasen was about to speak, but Seiga interrupted her. “Besides, you just asked her, didn’t you? Why are you asking me?” That reasoning appeared to make perfect sense in Seiga’s world. Kasen could not claim that she could read her particularly well.

Still unable to answer, Kasen watched Yoshika, who was still lifelessly contemplating the darkness beyond the lantern’s light. A few seconds passed, and Kasen didn’t realize Seiga had been waiting. Snow piled high on a grave collapsed somewhere in the graveyard. Yoshika’s eyes came alive with a spark.

“Seiga,” She called out, “You’re back!”

“Of course I am,” Seiga drew close to Yoshika and put her arms around her shoulders. “Oh, you’re so cold! Colder than normal... that’s not good!”

Yoshika smiled, and Kasen watched their strange exchange. Seiga held Yoshika’s face in her hands as she spoke to her, “I shouldn’t have made you wait for so long...”

“It’s okay,” Yoshika responded, her eyes still bright. “I just got here.”

“Right,” Kasen thought Seiga’s warm expression was so unlike her, she didn’t know how to feel. “Now, let’s go home, shall we? And you can keep citing to me all your beautiful verses.”

“Yes, I’ll take you back to the mansion.” Yoshika’s reply seemed to take even Seiga a second, but she was used to smiling, nodding approvingly and adoringly no matter what came out of her mouth.

“Of course dear,” She took Yoshika’s arm. “Good evening to you, Ms. Ibarakasen. Travel safely now.”

Kasen hadn’t expected to be addressed. “...Good evening.”

Yoshika turned and lowered her head in a jagged motion. “Ma’am.”

Kasen returned the nod, somewhat hesitantly. She watched them go, in the opposite direction, and heard them speak to one another cheerfully. Eventually, they were out of earshot, and Kasen let out the sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. In the silence of the night, accompanied only by the old moon, Kasen watched her breath leave her lips and rise to the heavens. The humanity she had cast aside, the lives she had taken, and the time that had passed; they were all things that were not coming back. It wasn’t good to hold onto the past, and yet, as long she herself continued to live, in this miniature garden nonetheless, she had no right to criticize others for doing so.

To Seiga, what was Yoshika, but a keepsake of times gone by? Kasen surely didn’t know, nor did she particularly want to know. Unable to salvage her soul, or perhaps unwilling, she’d regardless held onto her, diligently and lovingly. It was immoral as most would agree, Kasen certainly thought so; and yet, tonight she had realized above all else, that it was not a story she had any part in. Kasen could have played part in Yoshika’s story, 1200 years ago. She had let that chance go, she had passed it up. She’d been too loyal to her creed, and too frightened of her undying curiosity of humans. Indeed Kasen had played no part in Yoshika’s story, but Yoshika had unknowingly pushed Kasen down a different path, and changed her life forever. Her untimely death still pained her heart, but hopefully she had only left her body behind, her immortal soul drifting into the great beyond for new beginnings. Kasen found comfort in knowing that no matter what happened, the first person she had ever deceived would never know her secret. Yoshika had died believing the woman who had composed the final line of her poem that one clear winter night was a prestigious hermit, rather than a wicked oni. Kasen would not have it any other way.

When the candle in her lantern threatened to flicker down and die, Kasen returned to the temple. She said the jiang-shi had been taken care of, and left to go home early the next morning. The snow continued to fall on and off in the weeks to come. Gensoukyou was comfortably wrapped in a white blanket, and would be until spring. Kasen enjoyed the solitude of the mountain more than usual this time of year. Not even her usual visitors came to bother her, and she could spend all the time she wanted  meditating, wandering mountain side, tending to her familiars. She got another letter, eventually. Byakuren wrote to her, thanking her. The jiang-shi had never again been seen in the graveyard. The village humans had started returning to the graveyard to pay their respects and mourn their dead.

Kasen made a decision that day. For her, it was time to stop mourning. Some memories fade with time. Others remain. Kasen did still remember when she heard the news of Yoshika’s death, not long after she’d left the capital to never return. It was time to let go, let be, and dedicate one last prayer for Yoshika’s immortal soul. 

Just like Yoshika had given up waiting in the graveyard during the old moon, it was time for Kasen to move on as well. She would move on, but never stop honoring the memory, nor the gifts she had gained. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based largely on a folk tale I discovered while doing some research. The poem Yoshika and Kasen compose together was lifted directly from said story, although I took some liberties with it to fit with the story and the Touhou version of the characters. I also only used the first half of the poem, since that made it a lot easier to work with. A synopsis and TL of the poem (it's originally in Chinese) can be found [here](http://thekyotoproject.org/english/rajomon/). Yoshika's love of mountains and interest in hermitry is also quite well documented so references to it were easy to include. What else inspired me was the description of artistic oni I found in ["Seven Demon Stories from Medieval Japan" by Noriko Reider](https://books.google.se/books?id=y549DQAAQBAJ&pg=PA115&lpg=PA115&dq=%22miyako+no+yoshika%22&source=bl&ots=8qdzC5FDr_&sig=g5rddylnrkodB1dbMW9MjC0R7ho&hl=sv&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjt-svaw_feAhXKhiwKHfGxCss4ChDoATAGegQIBRAB#v=onepage&q=%22miyako%20no%20yoshika%22&f=false). I should perhaps also briefly mention that the title Kasen uses to sign her letter to Yoshika is a rough TL of what would become her alias "Ibarakasen", which is spelled differently from her given name. 
> 
> Kasen's backstory as it's briefly touched upon here is also based on the stories of Ibaraki-douji that I'd been able to find in the past. In general the Heian era from a Touhou perspective interests me so much, there was quite a bit of stuff going on in Kyoto back then; Kasen and the other oni, Nue, Yoshika and Seiga all lived in the same place at the same time. So I was very happy to finally be able to write something like this! So thank you to purenguyening for the opportunity!
> 
> One more; happy holidays, big thanks for the touhousecretsanta arrangers for their hard work and also thank you for reading!


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